


I Won’t Sleep

by Dalee



Series: Safe Inside [2]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe – Mob, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, selectively canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25722340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dalee/pseuds/Dalee
Summary: Kate had so many regrets.[Prequel toThe Sun Will Rise.]
Relationships: Kate Kane & Bruce Wayne
Series: Safe Inside [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1865641
Comments: 12
Kudos: 146





	I Won’t Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by James Arthur’s “Safe Inside.”
> 
> Surprise? This, uh, hit me out of nowhere while I was working on a sequel. 😅
> 
> **Do not use, edit, or repost this work, even with credit.** This fic should be found on Archive of Our Own (AO3) and _only_ on AO3.

We are always tortured by our memory  
of the last time we were with anyone,  
what we said,  
what we did not say. 

—Helen of Troy, _Helen of Troy_

* * *

Kate wasn’t in Gotham for a full day when a car rolled up to her side and, while following her, opened its passenger window. She knew that Gotham had a reputation, knew it lived _up_ to said reputation, but she thought she’d at least have a day without someone attempting to, what, kidnap her?

The thought was actually funny. She stopped to give the car a look. Only one person inside. A man. She eyed him. About as tall as she was, more muscled but without the look of someone who had training, and in fairly restrictive clothing.

Yeah, she could take him.

“Ms. Kane?”

If they knew her name, they knew what she was— _had been._ What she _had_ been. Which meant, if they were any degree of competent, they’d come prepared, and she might not be able to take him as easily as she’d thought.

She stopped, shifted her stance and weight so she could act if she had to. Her duffel would make a good makeshift weapon. She didn’t have anything in it that she couldn’t replace, and it was packed enough that it’d make decent impact if she swung it with enough force.

If nothing else, it’d shock him for a good second or two and give her an edge. She’d won with worse odds.

“Yeah, that’s me,” she drawled out, thickening her accent to add to the redneck image. “What can I do you for?”

The man stared. Then, “Mr. Wayne sent me to pick you up.”

_Right._ Amusement soured into offense. Did he really think that’d work on her?

“He wanted me to remind you not to hold your breath, as he has no intention of leaving Gotham, much less for _Florida,_ ” he continued a little hesitantly, like he didn’t know what he was talking about, wasn’t sure if _she’d_ know what he was talking about, but he needed her to know.

… Okay, so it _would_ work on her.

In her defense, it was the way he’d said her home state, the exaggerated almost-hiss of it. Bruce liked to do that. If she had to guess, she’d say that he thought it’d convince her that he was as mentally stable as the next person. As if she _hadn’t_ been there for the majority of his childhood when he’d been a little less guarded, a little less skilled in hiding that utter _blankness_ where empathy should be.

Either that, or he was copying everyone else and dissing her state. It was a toss-up.

The desperate hint on the man’s face also helped. Bruce had probably told him to bring her home, and no one with a lick of sense would think to fail an order given directly by _Bruce Wayne._

Kate supposed she could be convinced to be merciful just this once and climb into the car of a complete stranger.

Bruce had at least sprung a _nice_ car for her, she noticed as she climbed in the back. No leather because he knew she didn’t like leather seats. Hated the smell of them, especially in new cars, and the way they burned her legs in the summers and all but ripped off her skin when she got off.

There was even an unopened water bottle in the backseat cup holder, the sides wet with condensation.

For all that he didn’t normally give a shit about people, Bruce was surprisingly capable of being considerate. Must’ve been Alfred’s influence. God knew he didn’t get it from either of her parents.

She cracked the bottle open and drank. The driver flinched at the sound, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror before dropping back down to the road and then doing a double-take. He didn’t think she’d actually drink something provided by Bruce or Alfred.

And it _was_ provided by them, no doubt about that. Bruce, the little control freak, wouldn’t allow anything less.

He wouldn’t kill her, though, and Kate was pretty sure Alfred would sooner cut off his own hands before poisoning or drugging her without consent unless it was absolutely necessary. Psychology aside, they were men who’d become what they were now to protect what few people they had left in the world, fucked up as their methods were. They’d sooner burn the world and almost everyone in it before they turned on her, on anyone they considered theirs, and God _forbid_ anyone who turned the business end of a weapon on any of them.

She drank more of her water, leaned back more comfortably in her seat, and looked out the window.

So much damage to control, so few sane people to do it.

* * *

Alfred wasn’t surprised to see her, but then, Kate hadn’t expected him to be. In fact, she would’ve been worried if he was. There wasn’t much that happened in Gotham without Bruce knowing, and if Bruce knew, so did Alfred.

There was a jab in there about puppet kings and shadow kings, but Alfred would only demurely deny that, citing that he was but a dutiful, if exceptionally attentive, butler.

Bruce, though, would flat-out ask her why she thought Alfred _wouldn’t_ know everything he did. He was _Alfred._

“Tea, ma’am?” Alfred asked, as if she’d ever declined an offer of tea, much less _his_ tea. A tray was already in his hands with a pitcher and one of those fancy teacups. There was even a plate stacked with sandwiches. None of those little things that you could finish in a bite or two. A regular, normal sandwich. With _iced tea._

Alfred really did spoil her.

Kate let him serve her, much as she itched to take the tray from him, and sat down on the couch. She’d left her duffel unpacked in her room, and she could feel the tension from the flight start to bleed out of her.

“Thanks, Alfie,” she said, raising her cup up.

“Anything for you, Miss Katherine,” he replied with a slight tilt of his head in acknowledgement.

Yeah, _definitely_ former military, this one. She didn’t know the specifics, though, didn’t even know if he’d been in the US military or the British one or why a military man like him would become a _butler_ of all things.

She wondered if he’d regretted it, not going into something that would’ve kept his skills as sharp as they must’ve been way back when. She wondered if he wanted to be out there, where Bruce and Dick undoubtedly were, trying to find Jason because any Gothamite worth the steel of the bullet that eventually killed them knew that you couldn’t trust the GCPD to do shit.

Bruce might be richer than God, and that’d open _all_ the doors, but that didn’t change the Department’s incompetence. If they hadn’t found Jason by now, there was little chance of them finding him at all.

“Tell me about him,” she requested, the rim of the cup on her lips. “Jason, I mean.”

Alfred flinched. His composure cracked.

All for a boy who probably only _barely_ reached her waist.

She set her cup down. “Bruce mentioned he was a good student?”

A beat, and then a whispered, “The best.” He cleared his throat. “He was a bright boy and strove to learn everything he could get his hands on.”

A bright boy who loved to learn. A boy who’d survived she didn’t know _how_ long on the streets. No way he hadn’t picked up a thing or two. No way a boy like _that_ would’ve followed a stranger anywhere without precaution, without leaving breadcrumbs for Bruce to follow in case shit hit the fan.

And if _she_ knew that, then Bruce had to be running on fumes, scouring through the city for those breadcrumbs. That Bruce hadn’t found him by now meant there either weren’t any breadcrumbs to find or something had kept Jason from leaving a coherent trail.

“He sounds like a good kid. I look forward to meeting him,” she told him honestly, even as she doubted that he was still alive. She wasn’t a fucking idiot, much as Bruce apparently seemed to think otherwise. She _knew_ the types Bruce hung around with, and she’d convert and become a _nun_ if none of them had ever had their eyes on Jason at one point in time. From what she’d gathered, he was the weak link, and while it’d be smart of his kidnappers to keep him alive, if only to use him against Bruce, the longer he was alive, the higher the risk.

Better to kill him and use his corpse as leverage. That came with its own risks, _obviously,_ but there was little Bruce wouldn’t do to get Jason’s body back if he couldn’t save him.

She paused, then shook her head. She was a civilian now. This wasn’t her op.

Kate drank her damn tea. It was just the way she’d liked it. Of course it would be. Alfred remembered everyone’s preferences. He’d once sent her a care package of the minty chocolate balls that’d given her _so many cavities_ when she’d been a kid. She’d only had them that once, but it’d been the first thing he’d shipped her when she’d gone overseas.

She’d cried over that care package, she remembered. _Someone_ in the family had supported her decision, and that’d been a soothing balm to a wound she hadn’t even known she had.

“He looked forward to it as well,” Alfred replied, voice soft and _heartbroken,_ and she knew then that he knew, too, the chances of Jason still being alive. “He’s worked to convince Master Bruce to invite you to live in Gotham since your discharge.”

She raised a brow. “Did he now?”

Interesting. Why would Bruce put up with months of being badgered instead of just telling the kid she’d already turned down his offer? He didn’t like having to repeat himself, and he liked even less when people kept asking him the same question over and over again.

Footsteps. She tensed.

“Kate.”

Speak of the devil.

She set her cup down and stood up, smiling.

“Bruce.” She caught his hand and gave it a good, firm shake. Calluses, so he still went out into the field. “It’s been _way_ too long. What happened to letting me show Jason what a _real_ gator looked like?”

Bruce’s smile fell.

Good. Little shit should’ve known better than to keep things from her. _How_ many times had she babysat him? _How_ many times had she bailed his ass out when he’d picked fights he couldn’t finish? She’d practically helped _raise_ him. Though… She sighed. Yeah, it _was_ a bitch move on her part, using Jason to make that hit on him, even _if_ she was fucking pissed that she’d found out one of her nephews was missing from the _news._

“How long has he been gone?” she asked, giving his hand a quick squeeze, a silent apology, before taking her hand back. In the corner of her eye, she saw Alfred slip out of the room. Either he wanted to give them some semblance of privacy, or Dick was home, too, and he had someone who wasn’t already in a conversation who he could grill.

“Three days,” he replied, _frustrated,_ and if he were any less controlled, he might’ve raised his voice, might’ve paced around the room and mussed up his hair. “ _Three days,_ and the police _wasted_ twenty-four hours of it because of some _procedure._ They said given his history, he likely ran away.”

Yeah, that history. All of Gotham’s news rags had _salivated_ over Jason for that very reason. She’d read some of the things they’d written about him. Only some because she could never stomach reading more than halfway through, if that, before she had to close out of the app or burn the damn newspaper.

He was a _kid._ Regardless of who his father was, there were lines you didn’t cross.

“So they didn’t try that hard.” That sounded like the GCPD. Why bother putting in the effort to find someone who probably ran away? Never mind that that someone was _fifteen years old,_ if the kid had left on his own, he was _asking_ for trouble. He should’ve known better, especially in Gotham, and whatever happened, he would’ve had it coming to him.

“Gordon tried, but no, they didn’t.” And heads would roll for it, which yes, they did deserve it, but the retaliation Bruce had in mind would be overboard, she knew it would. It always was with him.

She wanted to bang her head against a wall. _Why_ did Bruce have to put her in a position to defend the _GCPD?_

“He wouldn’t have run away,” Bruce continued like he needed to make sure she knew it, dead-sure of this in a way Kate only rarely saw him.

She blinked. Ran the words through her mental filters a few times, but no, she couldn’t hear those words from a man like Bruce Wayne and _not_ have some very concerning questions that she really hoped she was overthinking.

“As in he knows better than to or what?”

Bruce’s expression flattened even further, distinctly unimpressed with her very justifiable and very valid concern. “As in he wouldn’t have left of his own accord. He’s loyal to the Family, to _us,_ he wouldn’t have—”

Oh. Oh shit, Bruce was choking. Was he—no, he wasn’t crying, thank fuck, but he _was_ having what was probably his equivalent of a breakdown. Okay, cool. Right. She could totally handle this.

“Would he have run _for_ the Family then?”

God, she sucked at this.

Something in Bruce’s eyes sharpened. “What do you mean.”

Ah, yes, that very Bruce-like way of asking questions that was less asking and more like putting a gun to the back of your head as he interrogated you. It sounded better and more effective now that he had the vocal cords to back it up.

“He’s loyal, so he wouldn’t have run from the Family, and he’s both a good student and a former street kid—”

“He wasn’t a street—”

“— _former street kid,_ so there’s no way he didn’t pick anything up. He’d know not to follow random people. Hell, he probably knows better than to follow people he _knows._ ” Especially given this family. “ _Ergo,_ he left and either didn’t or _couldn’t_ leave any clues for you to find him, and if he’s as loyal as you say, he’d only ever do that for the Family.”

Bruce shook his head. “Barbara hasn’t found any suspicious activity within the ranks.”

…

_Who?_

She narrowed her eyes. “Did you get another kid without telling me? _Again?_ What the fuck, Bruce, I _told_ you you can’t re-aunt me without telling me first. You’re making me out to be a shitty aunt who doesn’t even know how many nieces and nephews she has.”

“You’re my cousin, Kate. You wouldn’t be an aunt, you’d be their first cousin once removed,” Bruce pointed out, as if _that_ was what he should’ve gotten out of this conversation, and how did he even know that and _why?_ “Even if you _were_ an aunt, Barbara’s a family friend, not my daughter.”

A family friend. Bruce _had_ one of those? She supposed Lucius counted, but she’d always figured that that relationship was a warmer version of an employer-employee relationship more than anything else.

“A family friend you trust enough to not suspect her and high up enough that she has access to everyone’s activities?” she asked because she had to be sure.

“Barbara wouldn’t hurt the boys,” Bruce said flatly, _offended_ on her behalf. Who the hell was Barbara, and why was this the first time she was hearing of her? “She would’ve been out there with Dick and I if she weren’t in the hospital right now.”

Oh.

Well then.

God, she _sucked_ at this. Why did she have to be the only one alive to do this? Literally _anybody else_ would’ve been better. Her _dad_ would’ve been better, and he’d been a misogynistic bastard.

Okay, no, that was an exaggeration, her father would’ve been _terrible_ at this, and Bruce would’ve succumbed to temptation and killed him in maybe a day at best, but that wasn’t the point.

“And he doesn’t have _any_ family? No blood family, no family from before you took him in?”

A pause.

The desire to brain herself returned with a vengeance. Oh, this stupid idiot.

“You didn’t check the activity of his family from before you took him in, did you.”

Bruce turned on his heels and death-marched out.

Kate stared at his retreating back, tilted her head up because she need _strength,_ good Lord, and then dropped down onto the couch.

“And _this_ is why we recuse ourselves,” she said to no one and then reached for a sandwich.

* * *

Kate’s first impression of Dick had been this: Bruce _would_ find himself a baby killer.

Her first _in-person_ impression of him was this: Why the _fuck_ was this idiot covered in blood, didn’t he know how many bloodborne diseases there were?

“No,” she told him straight to his face, stepping in his way. “Go wash up.”

He blinked owlishly at her.

“I did _not_ survive the places I survived to be killed by _blood._ Whatever you have to report can wait until you _aren’t_ a walking biohazard.”

Another blink, and then he smiled sheepishly. Kate stiffened.

“I guess I _am_ a bit of a mess,” he admitted, and to his credit, he sounded like he really was embarrassed, like he’d been caught red-handed doing something thoughtless. If she didn’t know the things she knew, if she wasn’t aware of what exactly Bruce did and the role Dick played in that, she would’ve believed it 100%.

And that? That was terrifying.

“I’ll be right back. It was nice meeting you, Aunt Kate!”

“And he _isn’t_ your heir?” she asked Bruce when Dick left for what she hoped was a full-blown decontamination shower.

“He has the potential to be a great leader, but he doesn’t want my position,” Bruce replied. “He prefers being out in the field.”

Terrifying. Relatable, but terrifying.

“So who _is_ your heir?” she asked next, dropping onto the computer chair and spinning herself around. Not too fast, but fast enough that he couldn’t get a good read of her face and her thoughts on him not only having an honest to God _cave_ under his mansion, but actually outfitting and _using_ said cave.

The giant computer was overkill and so, _so_ dramatic, but she supposed it came in handy when someone was working remotely and had to video in.

_“That’d be me,”_ Barbara answered, and there was something in her tone, a _dare,_ that made Kate think that this wasn’t the first time she’d had to tell people that _she_ was the heir to the Wayne Family and that those times had not ended without a headache or two.

“How twenty-first-century of you, Bruce,” she said, still spinning. “Then again, you wouldn’t have chosen anyone short of your very exacting standards, so I guess I should congratulate you instead, Barbara, for doing what only a handful of people have ever done.”

A smirk. _“Like it was hard?”_

Attagirl. No matter how hard it actually was, never let anyone know. God forbid a woman actually _struggle_ to achieve anything lest it be used as “proof” that their sex wasn’t suited for it to begin with.

“I couldn’t have kept her from being my heir if I tried,” Bruce said with a sigh, resigned.

Dick returned far too quickly for Kate’s liking, hair dripping wet and with Alfred trailing behind him. Hopefully, Alfred had made sure he’d scrubbed himself well.

_“Well?”_ Barbara asked.

The refreshed smile slid off Dick’s face and was replaced by an almost impressive nothingness that made Kate rethink how good her own poker face was.

“She’s dead,” he reported in a tone people normally used to recount what the weather had been like just the other day.

The temperature in the cave dropped.

“Details,” Bruce demanded.

“Single gunshot.” Dick glanced at Barbara. “Not the same ballistics as the one that got you, but.”

“But” was right. Different ballistics or not, with the timing of everything, it was unlikely that the incidents weren’t connected.

_“So it was a dead end.”_

Dick looked away.

“What of her body, Master Richard?” Alfred asked, his tone _cold,_ a glimpse of the military man he’d been long ago.

“It was in a warehouse.” A tinge of confusion. He didn’t know why she’d been there, and nothing inside had provided any clues.

“And you just _left_ it there?” Kate asked, disbelieving.

“I called GCPD,” Dick replied with a shrug. “They can deal with the body.”

Well, yes, that was part of their purview, but that wasn’t the point.

“She’s Jason’s mother,” Bruce said, a decision made. “We’ll give her a proper burial.”

A hush fell.

This wasn’t her op, she told herself. It _wasn’t._ She was a civilian now, and even if she wasn’t, she couldn’t do it anyway. This was Wayne Family business, and she wasn’t part of the Family. She didn’t _want_ to be. She was only here for moral support and because Jason was her nephew.

She was still spinning, but she’d slowed down, and that was her downfall. She caught a glimpse of Bruce’s face, the _helplessness_ there, same as it’d been years and years ago when her parents had dragged her to Gotham for Uncle Thomas and Aunt Martha’s funeral.

He’d been one of the only two people who’d never tried to mold her into an image that was so far from who she actually was that she had to laugh to keep from losing herself to her anger, to the _audacity_ of it all.

Goddammit.

She stopped the chair.

“Show me everything you have,” she told Barbara.

* * *

Sheila Haywood had sold Jason out. Jason hadn’t disappeared, he hadn’t run away. It wasn’t for the Family. He’d been kidnapped after being _betrayed_ by his own _mother._ _That_ was why there hadn’t been any breadcrumbs for Bruce to find. Jason had been with his mother, had been with the person he’d so desperately searched for and so desperately wanted to build a relationship with, and she’d used that trust to stab him in the back.

The revelation had not gone well.

_“ **She sold him out?** ”_ Barbara hissed, and even in the hospital bed, bandaged, pale, and hooked up to IVs, she looked like an avenging goddess who’d descended to rain fire and brimstone down onto the world.

“We’re digging her body back out,” Dick snarled, his tone allowing no room for arguments, refusing to be refused. Kate had always thought that humans snarling only happened in fiction, but she’d apparently never met anyone _that_ pissed off before. “She doesn’t _get_ to rest in peace after she _betrayed Jason._ ”

“Dr. Isley would appreciate the additional fertilizer for her gardens,” Alfred mentioned offhandedly, which wasn’t creepy at _all._

“She didn’t leave anything that mentioned who she sold him to?” Bruce asked, doing what he did best and ignoring every and all emotions by fixating on solving the problem at hand.

“No,” she replied, frustrated with herself. Haywood had been about to go on the run, that much she’d found, and she’d been so easily persuaded by money, but there hadn’t been any mentions of a name or about the deal she’d made.

“Haywood was careful,” she continued, “and she covered her tracks well, but her partner was better. They killed her to tie up loose ends and cleaned up whatever she might’ve left behind to cover _their_ tracks. They’re _smart._ ”

And the smart ones were the ones you had to watch out for.

“Babs is smarter,” Dick replied, his tone _sharp._

_“Damn straight, bird boy.”_

Bird boy? Kate shook her head. She didn’t want to know.

“There were CCTV cameras around the warehouse,” Kate told Barbara. “Not a lot, and not in that great a condition, but they were there.”

_“Working on it. If they’re as smart and as careful as they’re proving themselves to be, there probably won’t be any footages, but I might be able to pull **something** from the way they’ve tampered with the cameras.”_

Bruce put a hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice tight.

It could’ve been for a lot of things: for coming back to Gotham when she’d been so dead-set on staying in Miami, in basically rebuilding her life from scratch on her own without help; for getting involved in this goddamn mess, getting involved with the _Family,_ when she had reservations about the things he did; or for getting this information to him, for finding out that the woman they’d buried and held a funeral for out of respect for her relation to Jason had _sold him out_ and deserved _none_ of it. Whatever it was for, though, there was only one way she could possibly reply.

“I’m offended you feel the need to say that.”

Jason was family, always had been, and there wasn’t much she wouldn’t do for family. Bruce should know that.

_”Bruce.”_

Something about Barbara’s tone made Kate’s head snap up, made dread pool in the pit of her stomach. Something had happened, something _bad._

Barbara’s face confirmed it.

She didn’t explain, only typed something on her keyboard, and suddenly, the window shrunk and shifted to the bottom-right corner to show a news channel.

They were playing a video.

_Jason._

He was _bloody,_ his head hanging, his body tied to a wheelchair with fucking _barbed wire._ He was the picture of _tired_ and _gave up._

Kate knew where this was heading, didn’t need to read the headlines scrolling on the bottom of the screen or hear the words coming from this asshole of a fucking anchor’s mouth. She had to—had to cover Bruce’s eyes, cover his ears. Had to keep Dick and Alfred from witnessing this. They couldn’t— _shouldn’t have to_ —watch this, she had to fucking _move_ —

_Bang._

Jason fell.

* * *

Kate had seen people die before. She’d had good friends die before, some in her arms even. She knew it wasn’t like in the movies or TV shows where the weather matched the mood, where it rained and rained and _rained_ like the world was mourning, too.

The world didn’t give a shit. It never had.

Yet somehow, she’d expected it to rain for Jason. A fifteen-year-old boy had been tortured and killed on live TV like he was some sick _entertainment,_ and Gotham was as bright as it could ever get.

Some thought it was faked. Kate had never wanted to enact violence onto a civilian until then. The sheer _callousness_ of watching a _child_ shot to death, _bleed to death,_ and they dismissed it as, what, _a clip from a movie?_ As the Waynes setting an example for what happened to those who crossed them, who left them? As that child _faking his own death_ to get away from the Wayne Family?

Kate wanted to laugh. Laugh and beat the ever-loving _shit_ out of every fucking civilian she came across who dared to sprout that bullshit.

God, she hated people.

The day of the funeral, the halls of Wayne Manor felt like a mausoleum. It reminded her of a different funeral almost half a lifetime ago.

But everything was different this time. At least with Uncle Thomas and Aunt Martha, they’d had bodies to bury. At least with them, they knew who to blame, knew what’d happened. All Jason had was an empty casket. Not even Barbara, not even _Bruce,_ had been able to find out where the video had been filmed.

It must’ve been a slap to the face, that Jason’s casket was empty because they weren’t _good enough_ to bring him home.

It must’ve been a slap to see that he’d been alive, had been _tortured,_ all this time, and if they’d been just that little bit better, if they’d _found_ him, he’d still be alive. If they’d been just that little bit _faster,_ Jason wouldn’t have had to die alone.

“Alfred,” she said, announcing her presence before she put a hand on his shoulder. “Alfred, I think that’s enough.”

The man in front of her looked his age in a way that he never had, the life drained out of him. He hadn’t stopped cleaning since the video.

“Miss Katherine,” he said, straightening himself. “I apologize for not having breakfast ready—”

“That’s fine, Alfred,” she interrupted, “I don’t have much of an appetite today anyway.”

A part of her wanted to tell him to rest, that the Manor was plenty clean already and that was _before_ he went on his cleaning frenzy, but she knew grief. Knew it like an intimate friend. She knew that some people needed to keep their hands busy or they’d break down from the weight of it all.

“On second thought, if you don’t mind, I’d love to have your chicken and waffles again,” she continued with a smile. It came out wrong, but here, her smiles didn’t have to be on the mark. “It’s been a while.”

“Of course, ma’am. Do you still prefer grape juice for breakfast?”

“Yes, please. Thank you, Alfred.”

“You’re most welcome, ma’am.”

She patted him on the back as she left for Bruce’s room. She would’ve gone for Dick’s, but last she heard, he’d broke into Barbara’s room at the hospital and had set up camp there. Whether it was to guard her while she was at her most vulnerable or to seek comfort, she didn’t know. She didn’t know him well enough.

The regret of that burned. She should’ve come home earlier, should’ve insisted on meeting the kids despite Bruce’s hesitation, despite her own hesitation to push him on things even tangentially related to the Family.

“Knock, knock,” she said as she opened the door. Bruce wasn’t sleeping, of course he wasn’t, but sitting on his bed, hunched over with a picture frame in his hands. Take away some hundred-fifty pounds and a good foot and a half or so, and it was like being back thirty-two years. All she needed was her dad yelling at Alfred downstairs and her mom trying to placate him while simultaneously taking her own shots at Alfred, and history might as well have repeated itself.

“I should’ve thought to investigate his mother,” Bruce whispered, his voice cracked. “If I had, if we’d found him even just a day earlier—”

“If I’d come home even just a day earlier,” she cut in, “if I hadn’t taken as long as I did investigating Haywood.” She smirked bitterly at him when he turned around. “You can play the blame game all you want, Bruce, but you’ll drag me in with you if you do, and you’ll drag the others in, too.” She raised a brow. “You want to blame yourself _that_ bad that you’ll have us blame ourselves?”

“Kate—”

“Shut up.” She climbed onto the bed and physically turned him back around. Then, she sat down, putting her back against his. Today was proving to be a fucked-up echo of the past, so she might as well go along with the theme.

In the corner of her eye, she saw a poster advertising some theater play. Shakespeare, she thought. _Hamlet_ was one of Shakespeare’s if she remembered right.

She didn’t know Jason had liked Shakespeare.

“Tell me about him.”

The minutes ticked by.

“He loved to read,” Bruce finally answered, “but he was hesitant to talk about it when he first came to the Manor. He didn’t want us knowing, much less know what he was reading.”

“Self-conscious.”

“Yes. He’d—he’d stay up all night, curled up behind the armchair in the library and read in the moonlight.” A pause, and then an empty chuckle. “He was so embarrassed when I found him.”

“Because he got caught?”

“Because he was reading a children’s book,” he corrected. “The education he received was inadequate at best, and he was years behind his peers.”

So he’d taken it upon himself to learn on his own. She felt herself smile. She would’ve liked that kid. No surprise there, really. She’d always had a soft spot for fighters.

“I was worried when I first heard you were adopting him,” she admitted. It felt like something she should say now, in this dim room with the curtains drawn to keep the light out. “Dick was one thing, he’s as terrifyingly messed up in the head as you are, but that kid sounded so _normal._ Traumatized as all hell, yeah, but normal. I was worried he’d fail somewhere, and you’d, I don’t know, kick him back out. Hurt him to make him what you thought he should be.” She laughed hollowly. “Should’ve known better, though. I raised you better than that.”

“You did. He wasn’t Dick, not in the least bit, and he wasn’t suited for this world, but I…”

Bruce trailed off. Kate waited for him to finish. When the silence grew longer, she thought that that was it, he couldn’t himself to continue, but then, in a voice she never wanted to hear again, he said,

“He was my _son._ ”

She closed her eyes. Ignored the shaking against her back and thought of everything she knew about Jason, the things she’d already known and the things she’d learned since coming to Gotham. The pictures and videos she’d seen of him, the few phone calls where she’d heard him in the background.

_What is this, a business call? You can’t talk to her like that, she’s your **cousin!** At least smile, it—what does it **matter** that she can’t see it? She’ll hear it!_

She’d never gotten the chance to tell him he could call her Aunt Kate. That he didn’t need to worry, he was as good as hers the moment Bruce clapped eyes on him and reverse-imprinted on him. That she was pretty sure she’d coddle him to death if there was even a grain of truth in those articles about him.

She’d been looking forward to showing him real live gators, up close and personal.

“Tell me more,” Kate asked, quiet.

And Bruce did.

**Author's Note:**

> If I’ve missed any warning tags, please let me know. 🙏🏼  
> Kudos and comments are always welcome. Constructive criticism, not so much.
> 
> That said, Kate is Jewish. I, probably very obviously, am not. If the way she has been depicted is Christian-coded, I apologize for my lack of research and ask that you let me know so that I can correct it. Please and thank you. 🙇🏻
> 
> (Bruce is also Jewish, but Kate’s my main concern since this fic is so heavily from her POV.)


End file.
